


Hawking

by goldensnitch18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensnitch18/pseuds/goldensnitch18
Summary: Rose doesn't know why she is taking the loss of Scorpius' mother so hard, but she knows that she needs to do something, anything, to help him pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63
Collections: Transfiguration: 2020 Round One





	Hawking

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DBQ2020Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2020Round1) collection. 



> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> The theme for this round of the competition was Transfiguration and my chosen pairing was Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley.  
> Comments/Reviews are encouraged by The Slytherin Cabal's Admin Team on all stories in Death By Quill, but comments left by readers are set to be moderated by story authors until the end of the competition in order to protect participants' anonymity.

In the long dark hours of insomnia she experienced after Scorpius’ mother’s death, it occurred to Rose that perhaps insomnia was not a typical reaction when someone you are barely friends with loses a parent.

_Loses._

_What a stupid expression._

Astoria Malfoy died. She wasn’t lost at King’s Cross, struggling to find her way through the crowd to the next platform, wondering where her family had gone. She was dead, buried in the ground. Scorpius had been away from school for two weeks. Albus had left for two days. Nearly a month had passed since Scorpius, or at least his body, had returned to the halls of Hogwarts, his skin paler than ever, his eyes empty as he walked down the haunted hallways.

And every night of that near month, Rose lay in bed staring at the curtains drawn around her and thought about Scorpius’s gaunt cheeks and the way he had stopped taking notes in class. This final detail was of greatest concern. Their designation as Head Boy and Girl had been almost predetermined from their first moments at Hogwarts. Nearly seven years ago, they had argued over the right to answer every question, the right to be the brightest of their age. Now, Scorpius was less invested in their lessons than Rose had ever seen even James, and that was _really_ saying something. 

So, she lay in bed and stared at the curtains drawn around her, and could not sleep. He was there, lingering in her mind, an itch she couldn’t reach, and it was his birthday the next day. It _wasn’t_ strange that she knew his birthday. Albus was his best mate, and she was close to Albus. She often ended up sitting with them in the library or riding brooms with them long after dark on perfect summer nights. Still, she wouldn’t say that he was really her friend. He was Albus’ friend. She was Albus’ cousin. She and Scorpius were … who knew what the term was. Maybe, well, possibly, there wasn’t a term that fit quite right. 

Rose rolled. 

Again. 

She shifted her pillow, fluffing it up to mold against the side of her head. 

_Why?_

Why was she so utterly unable to think about anything but the way he stared at nothing? The way he seemed to have forgotten who he was and why he was here? The way he seemed lost? 

For, he was lost. He was not dead. Scorpius had not died. Perhaps part of him had, she mused. The part that imagines that your parents are untouchable. The part that has no fear. The part that sees challenges as things to overcome and battles to be won. That part of him … could it be dead? 

A lump was growing in her throat, making it hard to breathe, hard to think straight as her already dark vision blurred momentarily before tears fell onto her freshly fluffed pillow. That was it. That was what had been haunting her, the loss of that part of Scorpius, that part that she … 

_Admired?_   
_  
__Connected with?_

_Lo-_

_No._

Rose turned again, burying her face in the wet cloth of her pillow. The lump in her throat was painful now as her heart and mind warred against each other, resulting in a mash of thoughts racing through her head, some that she tried to actively not think about as they floated through. 

It wasn’t that. It couldn’t be that. It wasn’t … _they_ weren’t. 

Urged on by exhaustion and confusion, she cried as she wished the tears weren’t causing her head to begin to ache. The pain made it that much harder to contemplate what she could do to help Scorpius find that part of himself again. Maybe then she would be able to sleep. _Maybe_. 

Hours later, Rose felt as awful as Scorpius looked. She had become accustomed to not sleeping very much, but she hadn’t drifted off until the sky had begun to lighten again with the beginning of a new day. After waking a short time later, Rose had considered visiting the hospital wing, but the idea of explaining what was wrong with her kept her away. 

After pinching herself several times to stay awake through Charms, she wandered down to the library to study during her break. Thoughts of a nap flitted casually through a small part of her brain before she dismissed the idea. Her Transfiguration essay wasn’t going to write itself, and she had rounds tonight. The library was fairly empty, but she still traveled back to the hidden alcove that her friends used to study far away from the irritating noises of the younger students. 

As she turned past the portrait depicting a smiling Bathilda Bagshot, Rose slowed her steps. Through the stacks to the large table where she had planned to unload her things, Rose caught sight of a hand running through white-blonde hair. A book lay open before him, but his bloodshot eyes were not reading the waiting print. Instead, they were swollen, obvious evidence that he had been crying, and Rose was sure that this was not a moment she should interrupt. 

But, she also could not look away. 

She _could not_ leave him here, on his birthday, crying alone into a book. 

Rose looked around her then, her mind again running through ideas until they landed back on the portrait of Bathilda. Her frame was richly engraved, the animals and florals seeming ready to jump out to join her in the library. Rose glanced back at Scorpius and saw the back of his hand wipe against his cheek. 

Quietly, Rose moved back a few steps, putting enough space between her and Scorpius that he wouldn’t see or hear her. She reached into her pocket, searching for something to work with, anything really. She found a bit of parchment and a crumpled quill. Her Transfiguration book was in her bag, so she sat on the floor, and pulled it out. Her teeth drug her bottom lip in, chewing the soft skin as she flipped through the pages. There must be _something_ she could use. 

Rose knew that Astoria had loved hawks. She had been named for them, and Scorpius had told her and Albus countless stories about the hawks his mother had raised. It was a hobby her father had fostered in her. _Hawking_ , that was what he called it. There must be something in this stupid book that could … 

She stopped. 

She released her lip. 

Her fingers attempted to smooth the parchment, and she set the quill atop it.

Her wand fell comfortably into her hand, and she mouthed the words to herself a few times as she read the page and practiced the hand movements. 

“ _Fio Accipiter_ ,” she declared, confident even as she whispered the spell. The bit of parchment and the old quill began to rip themselves to shreds. At first, Rose thought that she must have made a mistake, but then … _then_ … 

The parchment began to take shape, a body forming from the wrinkles, made better by them. The nib of the quill attached itself to the front, the last bits of ink bleeding into the spots where eyes should have been. The soft fluff of the quill began to fall around the parchment, attaching here and there, filling in the graceful wings, until a black hawk made of parchment and quill sat before her on the library floor. As she watched, the small creature ruffled its feathers as if shaking out the sensation of being bound into something new. 

Rose stared in wonder. It didn’t matter that she had been around magic her entire life. When she created something new from something old, she always felt like it was such a crazy gift, one that she wasn’t sure she was truly worthy of, but Scorpius _was_ worthy. He deserved something, anything that would bring him a small portion of joy, especially on this particular day. 

With care, Rose replaced her book and gathered her things. She lifted her wand once more, and cast a nonverbal levitation spell. She used her wand to encourage the tiny hawk towards the alcove. As it crossed the threshold, she made it swoop once … twice … past Scorpius. He eyed the bird in surprise, and then … 

He _smiled_. 

Something in the very, very pit of Rose’s stomach seemed to radiate heat at that smile. Scorpius reached out his hand, palm up, and Rose guided the hawk into it, careful to stay back as far as she could. She could just barely see the bird now, but she saw the movement of his other hand reaching to touch the quill-feathers. Rose bit her lip again, smiling her own smile. Scorpius’ head turned then, moving to search for someone out in the library.

Rose ducked down, hiding from sight, and moved as quietly as possible down the row of shelves she had been hiding behind. This moment wasn’t for her. It was for him. She moved more quickly as she made her way further from Scorpius’ table, but the smile that had taken over her lips would not fade. Giddy energy washed through her body as she remembered the way his eyes had sparked when he had smiled. She had seen it, just for a moment. It was _that_ part of him, the part that had been missing for too long. She hadn’t been sure that she would ever see it again, that it was something that could be healed. But she had seen it, and that gave her hope. Hope that he could rebuild, that he could form something new from the broken pieces left behind.


End file.
